


Young Artist

by whitepower



Category: Historical RPF
Genre: M/M, Sketches, ooc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-21
Updated: 2013-09-21
Packaged: 2017-12-27 06:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/975331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitepower/pseuds/whitepower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baldur von Schirach, here 40, not related to Nazism here, poses for a young Viennese artist, 20, but doesn't want to pay for the portrait with money.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Young Artist

'How long do I wait, young man?' Balder asked. It was extremely uncomfortable for him to keep his neck at an angle like this.  
The artist replied, with his eyes still on the easel:  
'Just a little bit more --'  
He stood holding his brush in front of him at an arm's length. Baldur sighed. He knew that he would not like the picture the young man was painting. Baldur looked stiff and sleepy in the picture. The artist knew it and said with some shame in his voice offering the canvas to the man:  
'That'll be twenty pfennigs'  
First Baldur put his hand into his pocket, but then he for some reason changed his mind and suggested in a weary voice:  
'Do you mind if I pay you in a different way?'  
The young man looked up wearily. After all, he was not handsome, no -- It is true that he was  
slender and thin -- with the white shirt unbuttoned on his chest. The young man was not  
beautiful -- but he was attractive.  
'Look,' the boulevard artist’s voice sounded pleading and weary – I haven’t eaten anything since morning. I confess, I smoked almost two packs of cigarettes -- I know it's high time to give up smoking. Because it takes all my money and I don’t have enough for food. I'm certainly open to new ideas! And your suggestion would be great if I was in a better condition. But I’ve at the meeting today and worked at the construction site for ten hours!'  
Baldur put his hand on the young man's shoulder and stroked. This desperate young man got agitated too much, while Baldur just offered to sleep with him.  
'Here you are, so handsome, well-groomed, you have a lot of money for sure,’ continued the boy reproaching (Baldur just smiled at these words) and so many people in our country are suffering, not having even the basic of necessities! Why our bourgeoisie --'  
'Hang on', interrupted Baldur softly. 'I just offered you a night of love instead of money for your excellent painting.'   
The handsome blond skillfully put flattery into the beautiful words. His voice was soft and muted, while his hand was reaching for the open neck of the young man. There was almost no one on the boulevard. Only a sketchbook and a kerosene lamp, a handsome adult and lean hungry boy. Black bushes and hot summer sky.  
'You won’t like it anyway. I have never had anybody. I'm only twenty.' The artist was trying to oppose, But Baldur was even more turned on by this. 'He is so young and inexperienced ... but passionate. I definitely have to persuade him.'

'Well, let's go to my place, and we'll sort out everything there. Come on, I owe you one.' Baldur shifted his hand from the boy's neck to his hip and stroked there several times. The young man smiled. Baldur looked at him again. He's got such a funny little mustache. As if he just forgot to shave for a few days. But otherwise -- You cannot say that he was handsome. But there was something special about him.   
'All right', finally the boy stopped to peacock. He picked up all his paintings, chipped dirty brushes and was ready to go. Baldur took the guy's arm and proudly led him on. Together they looked like well-groomed snow-white dove, fed with golden millet and disheveled lean little sparrow.

'Take a sit, my handsome man!' Baldur opened the car door and pointed to the seat. The young man asked:  
'Do I get such treatment for a single picture, and pretty mediocre at that?  
The man just nodded.  
'And, of course, for your blue eyes.' He shamelessly took the boy by the chin  
and kissed. The boy felt sudden new sensations. He hastily responded to the kiss by greedily sucking on the sweet soft lips, but Baldur withdrew from him a little and gently whispered:  
'Hold on, my never kissed darling--'  
At home the boy asked Baldur to turn on the lights, but he only lit a small lamp. Baldur sat the young artist on his lap and looked up at him.  
'I never learned your name,' he said.

'I'm Adolf. And may I ask yours?'  
'Baldur,’ the man said imposingly. He did not want to wait any longer. He pulled the young man closer by the suspenders, which clicked against his chest. Adolf allowed Baldur to have his body at his full disposal. He threw his head back and put his hands on his lover's shoulders. 

Baldur kissed young man's bare shoulders and left wet traces on them, he moved lower and lower. And then came the turn of the still beautiful slurping sounds and quiet moans.  
A few minutes later Adolf was lying under Balder loudly exclaiming:  
'Oh Baldur, I want you-- Oh please, go deeper and faster!'

He worked hard over the body of the artist, who never touched the man before. Adolf arched, twisted from over-excitement in Baldur's hands, rubbed nipples and asked to kiss him.  
Baldur was not listening and was not kissing. He throbbed dramatically into the tight virgin hole. He could not concentrate on anything else, except on his coarse frictions. 

The man was not going to finish soon. He kissed the boy's neck and ear. Not removing himself from the warm hole, Baldur went on to fuck the boy quickly and rhythmically. Adolf was not sorry that he went with this man. This well-groomed, well-dressed middle-aged blond was a very attentive and affectionate lover.

Adolf finally got his release, both emotionally and physiologically. Baldur and was not disappointed by the company of the young man either. Especially now, when he looked down on the boy, having placed Adolf's head on his knees, and listening intently to the boy:  
'I think you realize that the objectivity of the national question is impossible. I’m just amazed when I see how our politicians are talking about it. My opinion is that we need national government in order to provide loyalty of every German individual to the German Volk. It’s highly necessary, in the present conditions when--' Adolf again started to get excited. Baldur gently put his finger to his lips and said:

'You Adolf are saying quite reasonable and very interesting things. And most importantly, I see you know a lot. You’re a young amateur in politics, is that correct?  
'You may say so. But actually I’m neither an artist nor a worker.' The young man paused. His calling seemed so vague to him and difficult to explain. His purpose in life was to make the German people free and direct them to the right path. But was it possible? The artist explained that to Baldur as best as he could.   
The latter nodded and asked to tell something else. The idea that this gentle lover can be a police spy never occurred to Adolf, so he launched into expressing his political views and plans for the future.

And now he was not lying quietly on his lover's lap anymore, but paced across the room, unaware of his nakedness, and spoke confidently, emotionally and beautifully about the fate of his country, the Social-Democrats, the standard of living for the German worker and all those things that he watched every day and that caused his admiration or indignation, and simply put - the interest.

As he spoke, the young man got so agitated that a sudden grave thought occurred to Baldur. How far from his own rich, luxurious life was this young man. Adolf said he was 20. What was Baldur doing when he was 20? In thought and actions the boy was more mature than many of Baldur's friends. The young man was thin because he did not eat enough. And where does he live? In a dirty flophouse? Or in a wretched hotel room? Does he have a family? And finally, does the boy have anything other than high ideals and selfless purpose (after all, he was not seeking happiness and prosperity for himself, but for all Germans)?

The boy did not have anything else and did not want anything else. All he wanted to do was to fight for his ideals. It was as though Baldur found himself in the world of the Viennese poor, which the young man was describing so vividly. Of course, he saw all the things the boy was talking about before, but was not willing to notice them and to admit them. The scales have fallen for Baldur now. Now this boy interested him not only as a lover, but as the conversationalist.

It was almost dawn, when Baldur put the young man on his soft, clean bed and took a proper look at the painting again.

'The painting‘s bad,' he decided. 'He’s destined to be not an artist, oh no.'  
The trousers were lying on the floor. Baldur put several times more money than the young artist asked into the trousers pocket. Then he went to bed and kissed the boy. They boy turned on the other side, while still half-asleep.  
'Sleep tight, my darling,' - whispered Baldur softly. ‘Much struggle awaits you in this life.'


End file.
